Superhero
by SpencerChase
Summary: When I was a little boy dreaming of becoming a doctor, I always imagined it’d be something like being a superhero. Formerly titled "My Perfect Day", but that really didn't fit...


Superhero

A/N: This was formerly going to be the prologue to a story called "My Perfect Day" but I decided that it really didn't fit the fic that I had in my head. Still, it stands on its own, so I've decided to leave it up as a one-shot. (So you may have read this already under a different title. I'll be posting the new prologue (and the rest of the fic) soon. Thanks!

When I was a little boy dreaming of becoming a doctor, I always imagined it'd be something like being a superhero. Even with years of experience now under my belt there's still a certain amount of excited anticipation that comes when my pager goes off calling me to a code or down to the ER to help out with trauma overflow. I still feel that little boy thrill when at the end of the day I can think, "Today I saved a life." The only thing that would make it even better is if I could actually wear a cape.

The downside, of course, is that in order to save a life, a life must be in jeopardy. The message on my pager, which pulled me from a rather pleasant nap in the on-call room, indicates that tonight I may just have plenty of opportunities to be a hero. MVAwMC. Multiple Vehicle Accident with Mass Casualties. My adrenaline is pumping as I bound down the stairs three at a time and reach the ER before the barrage begins.

"What's the what?" I ask Nurse Sandra as we wait for the patients to start arriving.

"Semi collided with a bus," she informs me as she watches the door intently. "Happened just a couple blocks from here. Sounds like the bus hit another car then rolled down the embankment."

"Incoming!" a paramedic announces out as he bursts in from the ambulance bay with the first of what proves to be a long string of patients injured Within moments the ER becomes a flurry of activity as more patients than Sacred Heart's understaffed nightshift can possibly handle begin arriving in a scene of pure chaos.

Only a few of the patients actually get here by way of ambulance. Most make their way here on their own, arriving on foot or being carried in the arms of family, friends and even strangers. They should be being routed to County which is far better suited to handle mass trauma, but the accident's proximity has gotten them directed to us to triage, stabilize, and treat until other arrangements can be made for them. In the meantime, it's up to us.

I immediately leap into action. Never fear, Dr. Dorian is here!

The EMS First Responder Team has started the triage process, but many of the patients left the scene on their own and have not yet been flagged. I grab some tags to do quick assessments. Time to use our DR ABCs. Danger Response: A-Airway/Breathing, B-Bleeding, C-Circulation. If they're not breathing, they're probably still being worked on or black-tagged at the crash site, so I immediately jump to B-Bleeding.

Red tags are priority for our ORs or if we can't take them all, they'll be first to be transported to County if they can be stabilized enough to make the trip. Yellow tags for patients who are stable but need further attention. Most of those patients will probably end up at County as soon as transport can be arranged. Green tags can be treated by the interns and released. Thankfully most of those who have arrived on foot are easily green tags. I pass them out and direct people to the waiting area while one of the nurse's collects their names to compare against the bus passenger manifest to try and help identify…those who can't identify themselves.

"Please help me!" I hear a woman screaming right behind me. I turn and my eyes widen as I see that cradled in her arms is a young boy who looks terribly frightened. Of course anyone in his condition would be terrified. He has a large piece of glass cutting into his neck and chest. He is definitely a red-tag. From the position of the shard (was a piece that large still considered a shard?) it's possible that it is partially embedded in his heart. We can't just pull it out without risking further damage. Unfortunately, it has also severed an artery and he's in grave danger of bleeding out within mere minutes if immediate attention is not given. By now all the staff surgeons have been paged and are probably on their way, but are still precious minutes away.

I shove the rest of the flags into the hands of the nearest paramedic to continue the triage assessment. He nods and takes over while I turn my attention to saving the boy.

"Mommy!" he whimpers as I carefully take him from the woman's arms, mindless of the blood that immediately stains my scrubs. I'm painfully aware of the wet gurgle that pervades his weak voice. Fluid in his lungs. Blood trickles from his lips as he coughs a moment later, heightening my suspicion.

"What's his name?" I ask the woman, who looks back at me helplessly and shrugs. She's not his mother, I realize, and I begin scanning the area to see if there's anyone looking for him. Problem is that everyone looks like they're lost and confused. "Have a seat and we'll be with you as soon as we can," I assure the woman as I take the boy over toward one of the few remaining trauma rooms.

One of the interns has tears streaming down her face as she pops into the room with a copy of the passenger manifest. Though it's clear she's in over her head and not ready to deal with the situation, she's doing her best. She looks at my patient and quickly scans the list and then jots information on a temporary card. Timothy Harris, 6. She marks the manifest and continues on to the next room to try and identify the patients to assist in helping their loved ones locate them.

Glad to have a name to work with, I begin offering Tim as much assurance as I can that he's going to be okay and that as soon as I can I'll find his mommy for him.

As those around me panic, I remain calm and cool, working diligently to save the boy. The extraction of the glass should really be done by a surgeon, but there is no time to wait for one to arrive. The boy is crashing here in the ER. I'll have to do it so I can stabilize him and then let the surgeon repair the damage.

It's a long tough battle getting him stabilized. His heart gives out several times.

But each time I bring him back from the brink and in the end I prevail! After deftly extracting the glass shard, staunching the flow of blood and stitching him up, I hand the boy a lollipop and pat his head. "Don't worry, Timmy. I'll save your parents, too!"

"Gee, thanks, Dr. Dorian!" he exclaims looking up at me with wide grateful eyes and a big smile.

I give him a salute and flounce from the room, my cape billowing behind me.

Yes, that's how I always imagined it would be, but that's not always how it works.

I know I'm not supposed to let myself get emotionally involved, but staying detached has never been my strongest point. Or even a point of mine at all, really. Especially when there is a child involved. A six year old child!

I calmly set the defibrillator back on the cart and concentrate on not throwing my stethoscope or punching the wall with frustration. There is no solace in the fact that there are no grieving parents that I will need to console; the boy's mother was pronounced at the scene and his father coded twenty minutes ago in the OR.

"Time of death: 12:03 am," I call it wearily.

Turns out I'm no superman.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! It's my first attempt at a Scrubs fic and I'm not all that sure I've got the "voice" right, so constructive criticism is highly welcomed!

Thanks!

Spencer


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